


Wearing the red inside out

by Anuna



Series: The Red Thread [7]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Control, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Light Bondage, Mythology - Freeform, Oral Sex, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 04:26:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuna/pseuds/Anuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He imagined this, imagined her suggesting this, but in his mind it played out differently and she didn’t seem as vulnerable as she does now.</i> Red Thread series, part seven, from Clint's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wearing the red inside out

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I'm sorry about the super long wait. The good news are, new chapter is here, the next one (the final part) is almost written, and I'll do my best to write it and post it as soon as possible. It shouldn't be long now :) All feedback is loved and cherished! :)

*

It's early evening and they have nowhere to be and nowhere to go. It's a welcome change from two weeks of constant cold he spent tracking a mark through rainy weather and mud. Natasha had a different mission and in a week's time she'll be sent away again, so he's content to just hold her and be quiet with her. She is sitting in his lap, allowing him possession of her slow breaths and soft skin under his fingertips. He has his arms around her, his leg around her legs, and he feels softness when he touches her side. She's eating properly, looking well and feeling healthy under his hands. The exhaustion often turns her into tight skin over muscles, and there's not even a hint of this. This he prefers so much, all of her glorious curves, a bit of extra weight and all the nights she got to sleep instead of working. Her fingers slide up his arm, slowly, and she lifts her face a little, like she's waking up. They haven't been doing anything for nearly an hour except holding each other and listening to the rain outside. 

She shifts in his arms and turns to look at him. It’s a strange look, one he has trouble reading. It lingers on his face like she is looking for something, moments before she moves and kisses him. It’s chaste, so he keeps it that way too, feeling that he should follow without any other intention. But then it changes, her body turning into his, her lips claiming him and his breath turns short and labored. She moves away though, abruptly, just like she started kissing him, looks at him and says,

“I want something.”

He feels the weight of her eyes and realizing this is something serious and important to her. He isn't sure what brought this on, but he is used to follow Natasha, to look at her and find the pattern.

“What do you want?” he asks quietly, sliding his palm into her hair, surprised when she moves away from his touch. She gets up, only to reposition herself, to straddle him just like she did when she first kissed him. She's looking at him like she’s searching for something. Like she’s lost in a labyrinth of her own, but he can’t tell the way out. At least not yet.

“Tasha?” he asks softly, and her gaze changes, turns into something more vulnerable around the edges. “Come on, baby doll,” he says, but he doesn’t touch her, not just yet. “You can tell me.”

“I want to do something with you,” she starts after a couple of moments of quiet, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders. She touches the base of his neck, those vulnerable spots nobody else gets to touch. “In bed,” she adds.

He holds her hips then, lightly, but steadily, enough to tell her that he’s here with her, but he won’t push. It’s a strong instinct so he sticks with it and she shifts, leans a bit closer as shadows twist in her eyes. She moves closer yet, moves against his lap, and it makes him react. “I want -,” she licks her lips and hesitates. 

“It’s okay,,” he soothes, nudging her gently. “You can tell me.”

“I want to tie you up,” she says, softly, so softly, and it sounds differently than he would ever expect it. She swallows and he observes her face, the unknown inner struggle. He imagined this, imagined her suggesting this, but in his mind it played out differently and she didn’t seem as vulnerable as she does now. In his mind she was carefree and sure of herself, she was in control. The woman in his arms, he realizes, is lacking it, and then it strikes him.

He thinks he knows when and why.

“Okay,” he says, kissing her fingers briefly. “What else do you want?” he asks quietly, turning into her touch.

“I want to do things to you,” she leans closer, her breath against his lips, words coming with more ease, “touch myself and watch you watching me. Touch you and do everything you like and watch you,” she says, like it’s a secret, like it’s almost unthinkable. There’s nothing harsh in her suggestion, nothing they wouldn't normally do, and that somehow indicates just how big, how important this could be for her. He moves, just slightly, presses his face against hers. 

“Okay,” he breathes. She stays against him for a couple of moments and then moves to look at his face.

“I want you to pick a safeword. And I want you to use it if –“

He nods, giving her a look that’s matching her own; open and steady and perhaps even vulnerable. 

“Okay,” he says and her hand tightens on him. 

“Promise me,” she insists. He trusts her implicitly, but he understands why this is important, why it creates safety, maybe not so much for him, but for her. She’d always relied on him, on his aim, on his eyes to tell her how things stand, where to move and where to hide. If her shape keeps changing, like a river’s flow, then she needs something steady. 

“I promise,” he says and adds, “Marrakesh. I like that word.”Because that’s the first place where he saw who she truly is, because that’s where he decided that he would learn the labyrinth instead of being afraid. She nods and presses her forehead against his. 

“I want you to remain tied,” she says, pressing her voice trembling and filled with need and he nods and breathes “yes” against her cheek.

“Yes,” he repeats and she nods in turn. “Okay.”

“You can ask for things you want… and I’ll choose how I’ll give them to you. And when,” she says and he nods. She sounds surer, more like herself and there’s a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. He smiles gently at her. “We can stop at any time,” she says. He holds her face in his hands and holds her gaze. He doesn’t think he would want to stop. 

“I trust you,” he says, serious, and finally a small smile breaks out, barely touching her eyes, but she seems relieved.

“I trust you too.”

*

In the bedroom he is hers because he chooses to give himself to her, to her eyes and hands and the words she speaks. She tells him to be still, and he is, standing at the foot of the bed. She touches the sides of his face, with gentle fingertips against his cheekbones and tiny nips against his mouth. They grow sharp as her fingers tug against his hair, pull him closer and he gives in.

He watches her as her gaze turns dark, dangerous and vulnerable at the same time. It’s that same darkness that pulled him closer, tied him to her. She starts to open his shirt, one button after another and there’s something like reverence on her face when she follows her hands with her eyes, kneeling in front of him. The sight does something to him, seeing her on her knees like that, because she wants something from him. It’s her, he thinks, the way her power works, the reason it’s so unassuming, so definite. 

“Be still,” she breathes, pulling against his belt, sensitive spots on his stomach against her lips. His muscles jump under her tongue and he hisses when she drags a fingernail from the middle of his chest to his navel, and he has to close his eyes just to remain still. She breathes, hot air against his skin, and he's struggling with the desire to touch her. 

She must have sensed it because she smiles, slow and almost feral from her position. “Be still,” she reminds, and he does, he stands still as she touches him, watching how his muscles jump under her fingers. Her hands are gentle when she removes the belt buckle, when she reveals him bit by bit.

He is naked when she starts pushing him toward the bed, flat on his back, hands above his head. He swallows when she meets his eyes, a rope in her hand.

“Do you trust me?” she asks once more, and he nods.

“Yes.”

She ties him, and it’s not something he couldn't get out of. The barrier between them is completely negotiated, more a support than restriction. She needs it, just like she needs the shape of her labyrinth to be steady, and when she touches his chest, when he arches into her hand he thinks that he could be a part of her pattern. 

He will give her that.

She kneels above him in all her glory, with both confusion and determination etched in her expression. 

“Watch me,” she says, and her fingers go to the front of her shirt. Each button gives in slowly, but her eyes are on his face, on his expression as she does this, and for a moment it’s strikingly clear that the control is hers, but the power is his. The shirt opens under her fingers and her breasts come into view, full and wonderful, and his breath hitches. All he wants is to put his mouth on her and he supposes she can see it, she can read it and he doesn't give a damn. 

“Tell me,” she says. He’s exposed and painfully hard already, and he looks as she looks at him, all of him, eyes wide and dark. 

“See what you do to me, baby?” he says and she bites her lip, trying to remain calm, but he can see the cracks. She shrugs her shirt out of the way. “You're so damn hot,” he rasps. 

“Tell me more,” she demands. 

He swallows thickly, watching as she pushes one strap off her shoulder. Her flesh is swelling under the cotton cups, soft and promising.

“I want you,” he says, his voice coming out rough, like he hadn't been speaking in days. “So much.”

“What else?” she asks, her palm cupping her right breast. He clenches his fists, he wants to hold her there, with his own fingers, dig them into her until they melt together. 

“I want to touch you,” he says, and it’s harder than he expected it to.

“Where?” she asks, pressing against a spot where her nipple is hidden behind the cotton.

“There,” he swallows. “Right there.”

“How?” she demands.

“With my hand, my fingers rubbing your nipples,” he breathes and twists. “With my mouth on you.”

“More, Clint,” she says, and he sees her breasts rising and falling as she reaches behind her back. The bra gives, material falling slightly, but still covering the most beautiful part of her. “More.”

“I wanna suck your pretty tits,” he says, watching as she uncovers herself. “Gently first, to make you wet,” he says. “You love it, you love when I have my mouth on them, don't you baby?” She plays with her nipples and he bucks against her, rocking her a little and she bites her lip again. He can see exactly what his words do to her, he can see it in the way her mouth falls,. In blatant desire on her face. He might be tied, but his words pull her, just like that rope is pulling at his hands. 

She moves, lowers herself over him, mouth trailing just above his skin, barely there and he shivers. It feels like all his promises come back at him, when she mercilessly sucks him and all he can do is moan and give in. His erection is trapped between their bodies, blood and desire pulsing brightly through him, frustratingly deprived of attention. “I wanna suck on you so hard you'd scream,” he manages, panting, and he can almost feel her smirk as she does just that. The sound that leaves his throat sounds strange, needy and broken. He can feel her breasts against his stomach, full and round and so soft. He moans again, her name coming out half broken and bringing her tongue sharp and strong against him. She stays there, pressing against him, dragging her name from his throat with her tongue and her teeth. When her name becomes a plea she moves above him, finger against his lips. 

Her voice is a soft, silky whisper he could drown in. She could use it, a deceiving, soft rope to tie him down and drag him through the labyrinth. 

“Open your mouth and close your eyes.”

He does, and he’s deprived of sight but gratified with sensation, the feeling of her breast in his mouth, and her body above him, moving and reacting when he closes around her. He gives her the same treatment she gave him, teeth and tongue, makes good on his promise as his name falls broken from her mouth. He makes her moan and growl and scream until she moves away and tells him he can look. She’s flushed now, skin red, traces of him scattered on her as she looks down at him and he thinks he will give her anything, anything just so she’d continue.

Her fingers reach for the button of her pants and he watches as she opens it, lowers the zipper and pushes her hand inside. She closes her eyes and moans and he moans too, because he wants to be the one to touch her there, to make her face look like that, to pull those sounds from her lips.

“Nat,” he says and she opens her eyes, dark and heavy.

“Do you want to touch me here?” she asks and he nods and swallows.

“Yes,” he says.

“Tell me,” she asks, and he watches how she touches herself, fingers inside of her body, and her other hand touching one breast. “Tell me how.”

“I wanna push my fingers into you,” he says, the tension in his body pooling lower and becoming almost too much. “I bet you're wet now," he says. "I wanna fuck you with my fingers until you come apart."

“Yes,” she says, and her half closed eyes and mouth dropping open prompt him to tell her more.

“I love going down on you,” he says and her breath stutters and her hand pauses a bit. He feels the shift, feels that she needs to hear more, so he gives her more. “You’re warm and you taste so good. You squirm when I lick around you and you love when I push my tongue into you,” he speaks and her hand moves and she starts breathing faster. 

A hitch in her breath stops his words and he watches how she rocks into her own hand, rubs herself faster, closes her eyes and opens her mouth. He can smell her when she comes; hear it in the broken sob to which he adds his own, bucking and clenching fists and trying not to come just from this.

“Oh, God, Tasha,” he says, as she calms down in waves. He imagines how sticky her fingers are when she pushes her pants and underwear out of the way and then she moves and moves until she is above him, straddling his face and spreading herself open with her fingers.

“Tasha,” he moans against her, almost not believing. She’s so fucking wet, just as he imagined.

“Fuck me with your mouth,” she says, “like you just did with words.”

His brain stops and he closes his eyes and arches to reach her, find her with his mouth. She starts to grind against him, hips rolling in tight little movements as she rides his face. He circles her folds and licks the length of her slit and she rubs herself mercilessly, moaning his name and asking him to fuck her, _yes, oh yes, just like that._ He does, angling his face and pushing his tongue into her as his cock literally hurts, but he does what she asks. 

He will give her anything.

He will give her _everything_.

She breaks with a near scream and he feels her coming against his mouth, unmasked and perfect. She holds herself upright, hands braced on the bedpost as she comes down.

“Nat,” he breathes, just barely. She doesn’t move for awhile and all he hears is her breathing, slowly turning to normal. Then she slides down his body until his cock is pressed against her ass, brushing against her wetness. She rubs herself against him deliberately as she kisses her taste away from his lips.

“I will fuck you now,” she says and he just swallows. “I will fuck you, and you will look at me, and you’ll hold on,” she says and he nods. She moves, slides down onto him and he stretches her.

She is so hot and tight and he gasps with her.

“Look at me,” she says, hands braced against his tied arms and he holds his breath, his body, every muscle pulled taut and tight. She moves, rocks, makes him moan and plead and curse, she looks into his eyes and he looks into hers while she’s speeding up. He’s losing control of his voice, of his words, everything but his body when she kisses him, hot and slow and then she says, 

“Come for me.”

And he closes his eyes against a groan and he does. He shatters, explodes into a million little pieces as he shoots up into her.

He has no idea if she comes too, doesn't know what happens in the following moments because he is trying to regain control over his breathing, to come down and find himself again. She’s still on him when he opens his eyes and takes a breath, a breath full of her. She kisses him, slow and long and gentle and unties his hands. He can finally move them, and he does, settling them on her back, wrapping them around her, holding her close. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

“Yeah,“ he says, because he can’t come up with anything else, as he strokes her back. She shifts and he starts to harden again. She moans against his collarbone, lifts her head to kiss him on the lips, opens her mouth to him.

“Nat?”

“It’s okay,” she says and he moves his hands down to hold her ass as he starts to move. He starts out slow, working her up, listening to her moans, feeling her body rise like a wave. It doesn’t take long before he’s gone over again, and she lets him do this, have her and kiss her afterward.

Later, it’s hard to separate and untangle. They don’t even try. He falls asleep wrapped in her.


End file.
